


the heart stays silent

by extasiswings



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Edging, F/M, Non-Graphic Smut, Timeless Fanfic Prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-15 22:03:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11240163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extasiswings/pseuds/extasiswings
Summary: “Not all love is gentle. Sometimes it’s gritty and dirty and possessive, sometimes it’s not supposed to be careful or soft at all. Sometimes it feels like teeth”. — Azra T.





	the heart stays silent

They fuck for the first time a month after the team breaks Flynn out of an underground cell. Throughout that month, he barely speaks to Lucy, barely looks at her, and it’s made clear more than once that whatever budding peace there may have been between them is no more. 

And then they go to Pearl Harbor on December 6, 1941 and barely make it home the next day.

Lucy snaps. 

She shouts at him, swears at him, shoves him hard enough that he actually has to catch his balance. It feels good, so she does it again. 

The second time, Flynn catches her wrists in one hand, his eyes narrowing in frustration when they meet hers.

She couldn’t say who moves first, but they crash together, the fight shifting from words to mouths, hands, teeth.

Lucy’s blouse is blood-spattered—the splash of red on white like some macabre work of modern art—but she no longer cares once Flynn rends it from her shoulders.

It’s rough—rougher than she might usually prefer—but if she wanted gentle and sweet she would go to Wyatt with his bright grins and soft eyes, not Flynn who seems to hate her as much as anything else. 

(Not to mention, Lucy gives as good as she gets, scoring crimson lines down Flynn’s back with her nails, leaving dark crescents on the back of his neck when he nips hard at the juncture of her neck and shoulder at the same time as a particularly rough thrust)

Flynn doesn’t say a word after, taking only enough time to slip out of her and lower her down from the wall before turning on his heel and leaving her to catch her breath.

She tells herself it won’t happen again.

* * *

The second time comes two weeks after the first, in an alley in Paris, 1889. 

Lucy tells herself she just needs to scratch an itch, that it has nothing to do with the fact that she somehow misses the scratches and bruises he’d left on her the first time around, the fact that for those few minutes he’d made her feel more alive than she has since she first heard the name Rittenhouse.

It’s just an itch. And Flynn’s easy. They’re not friends, they don’t have a relationship to screw up with sex. 

He’s...safe.

Flynn makes a shocked sound against her lips when she pulls him into the alley and kisses him, but he doesn’t push her away, instead joining her in cursing the unnecessary number of skirts the fashion of the day demands as he presses her up against the wall.

If Rufus or Wyatt notice her mussed hair or the mark under her ear when they return to the Lifeboat later on, sticky and flushed and satisfied, neither of them say a word.

* * *

Things start to change after that. They still don’t talk, but there’s a shift. He won’t ignore her. He’s less reckless. The four of them together start feeling almost like a team. 

For the second time, Lucy tells herself it can’t happen again.

* * *

The third time, Flynn comes to her. 

They’ve just returned after preventing Rittenhouse from killing Asher Flynn, and although Flynn hadn’t say a word about his father the entire mission, there was a tension in the lines of his body that revealed more than he would probably like to think about.

He finds her in her office and lays her out on her desk, his hands tripping over skin and clothes as if he can’t make up his mind about where to touch. There’s a strange energy to him—something wild but unsure—but Lucy bites back a question, instead pushing him to his knees when he reaches for his belt. 

Flynn arches an eyebrow as his fingers skim her inner thighs, amused but clearly not opposed to the change in plan.

(It’s a miscalculation on her part, although not a mistake. She’s not sure something so good could ever be a mistake)

He keeps her skating on the edge for the better part of an hour, bringing her close more times than she can count only to pull back before she can finish. Her thighs shake, her toes curl, sweat pools on her hairline as heat bursts under her skin—

_You’re a fucking tease._

Lucy only realizes she’s said it aloud when his laughter puffs across her skin.

“Garcia, _please_ —”

(She’s not above begging at this point)

Flynn listens—his tongue curls around her clit as his fingers press up against her inner walls—and her orgasm crashes into her, carrying her away on a wave of pleasure so strong it’s almost painful. 

She comes back to herself to find Flynn’s arms around her, anchoring her as she shivers through aftershocks.

He doesn’t fuck her.

(It’s not until later that she realizes it was the first time she’d used his name—his first name—instead of his last)

* * *

After the third time, Lucy acknowledges that she wouldn’t mind if it happened again, but she also doesn’t expect it to. Not when Flynn avoids her at every turn. Not when he won’t touch her—he dropped her hand like a hot iron the one time he helped her into the Lifeboat out of habit—not when he won’t be alone with her. 

(She _misses_ him. It stings more than a little) 

Which is why it’s a little surprising when she finds him in her room after she kisses Wyatt to keep a cover in 1963. 

When Flynn kisses her it’s not unlike their first time—rough and more than a little out of control. But there’s an edge to it as well, of desperation, of possession. The way he touches her, the way he maps her skin with his mouth as though he’s charting undiscovered territory, all of it feels like a claim.

She should be pissed. She wants to be—he ignores her for weeks and then comes back because he’s, what? Jealous? Of Wyatt?

(She’s not—not after she rolls onto her knees and he drops a kiss between her shoulder blades so delicate that it’s a shock to her entire system. Maybe later she’ll manage it again)

“I’m not in love with him,” Lucy acknowledges later, staring up at the ceiling and wondering if Flynn’s actually planning on spending the night in her bed or if he’s going to run away again. “Wyatt. I’m not in love with him.”

_I might be in love with you though. At least a little._

Flynn doesn’t say a word, but the way his hand curves around her hip says a thousand.

* * *

She learns that he has nightmares when his tossing yanks the blanket off of her in the middle of the night.

She learns that his nightmares are about her when he says her name while she’s trying to figure out a way to wake him up.

She learns a lot more than that after he does wake, when he clutches her to him and damp collects on her skin where his face is pressed to her neck.

When he falls back asleep, she officially stops trying to convince herself nothing else is going to happen between them. They may be broken and complicated and confusing and there may be too many sharp edges between them to make something work, but it’s not as though she’s had much luck making uncomplicated relationships work in her lifetime. 

Whatever is between them may not be perfect, but it’s theirs.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Hustler" by Josef Salvat.
> 
> As a general note, despite what is represented here, please don't engage in edging (orgasm denial) without talking to your partner first.


End file.
